


His Heart's Desire (the beginnings of a Good Omens x Stardust crossover)

by freudensteins_monster



Series: Ineffable Fic Ideas [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Stardust (2007)
Genre: Aziraphale is Tristan, Crowley is Yvaine, Crowley is not/was never Raphael, Gen, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Raphael is one of Aziraphale's brothers, Star Crowley, War Famine and Pollutions are the witches, meet ugly, the angels are Aziraphale's long lost siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudensteins_monster/pseuds/freudensteins_monster
Summary: Ezra Fell, for all the gentlemanly qualities he possessed, had always been treated as something of an outcast by the townsfolk of Tadfield. For all he was kind, and well-read, and taught the children of the village their letters with such patient and enthusiasm, they could never forget what he was: a foundling from beyond the ancient stone wall that marked the eastern border of the village, the ancient stone wall that protected them from all manner of strange and terrible creatures that surely dwelled in the forests beyond. Not that they ever mentioned it. No well-bred person spoke of such unbecoming things, but they always managed to say a lot without speaking when it came to Ezra Fell.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Pre Aziraphale/Crowley
Series: Ineffable Fic Ideas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475186
Kudos: 23





	His Heart's Desire (the beginnings of a Good Omens x Stardust crossover)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is unfinished and will probably remain unfinished. 
> 
> It was only meant to be a short crossover synopsis but it got away from me, then it made me fight for every last word for about a week until I could get it to the point where I felt I could leave it.

Ezra Fell, for all the gentlemanly qualities he possessed, had always been treated as something of an outcast by the townsfolk of Tadfield. For all he was kind, and well-read, and taught the children of the village their letters with such patient and enthusiasm, they could never forget what he was: a foundling from beyond the ancient stone wall that marked the eastern border of the village, the ancient stone wall that protected them from all manner of strange and terrible creatures that surely dwelled in the forests beyond. Not that they ever mentioned it. No well-bred person spoke of such unbecoming things, but they always managed to say a lot without speaking when it came to Ezra Fell.

Their poor treatment of him had only gotten worse after the death of the local vicar, the only father figure Ezra had ever known, culminating in R.P. Tyler, his snobbish landlord, drastically increasing the rent on Ezra’s beloved childhood home-turned-library in an effort to force him out. Ezra had worried over the notice for the better part of the day before getting up the nerve to confront his landlord as he and his yappy little terror of a terrier made their way home from the only pub in the village. It was a personal attack Ezra had tried to argue as delicately as possible, tugging nervously at the hem of his brown hand-me-down waistcoat - after all he’d never raised the rent as much as a penny for as long as the old vicar had been alive. When that failed Ezra practically begged his landlord to consider some sort of arrangement which would allow Ezra to purchase his home from him. Tyler was never going to sell, and told Ezra as much, but then a flash of fiery golden light shot across the night sky catching their attention and a cruel thought began to take shape.

“The only way I’d sell to a man of your background, Mr Fell, is if you brought me back that fallen star,” he most assuredly did not slur.

“The star?”

“Aye. You present that star to me by weeks end and I’ll gladly hand over the keys to you. But if you don’t, and if you’re so much as a day late with your rent, I’ll toss you and that absurd collection of tinder you call a library into the gutter.”

An idea once planted is a hard thing to kill, and as R.P. Tyler stumbled home Ezra’s gaze turned eastwards, trying to recall the path of the fallen star and wondering just how deep into the forest beyond the wall it had landed.

Several minutes earlier in the kingdom of Etherium, many leagues beyond the wall, in the largest bedchamber in the highest tower of the Palace of Light a queen lay dying. She is surrounded by her remaining children. There had been eight of them once but one by one they had perished – accidents, she was told – until only four remained; Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, and…

“Aziraphale?” she called, her eyes struggling with the dwindling light.

“No, mother. It’s Gabriel,” the youngest of her remaining children huffed impatiently. “Aziraphale died as a babe. Raphael lost him in the forest when his camp was attacked by bandits. Remember?”

“And poor Raphael took an arrow through his righteous heart,” Michael feigned a sigh.

“Such a shame,” Uriel added, herself an excellent shot with a bow.

“Little Aziraphale was claimed by wolves, one can only assume,” Sandalphon grinned.

The queen feels the loss of her other children keenly and laments that she must leave her throne to such ill-suited heirs. Unable to choose one over the other, for they are no good choices, she gathers the last of her strength and walks to the window, looking out over her kingdom for the final time. She pours the last of her light into the pendant that had hung about her neck; a translucent crystal on a gold chain. It glows brightly for but a moment then turns cold and opaque as the queen hurls it into the night sky. It seems to hit something at its apex before careening back to earth. Her children watch on curiously, wondering if the old girl had finally lost all her marbles. She turns to face them, her skin now ashen making her look every one of her considerable years, and addresses her children.

“Whoever of royal blood can return the Light to the palace shall claim the throne of Etherium.”

Her children step over her cold body, shoving each other out of the way to get a better look at the pendants final resting place. Sandalphon accidentally falls out the window in his eagerness, or so the official report will say, and his three remaining siblings do not so much as even glance at his mangled corpse at the foot of the tower as they take their leave of their ancestral home to hunt down the pendant.

Hidden in the darkest depths of the darkest forest, someone else sees the star fall, and to them a fallen star means far more than a home or a throne. To them, a being who was old when the foundation stones of the Palace of Light were still hot and gooey, a fallen star is a means to restore her and her siblings to health and vitality and power beyond imagining. She hobbles back inside to share the joyous news with her siblings.

“A star has fallen!”

Her voice echoes through their cavernous and cluttered home but she gets no reply. She rushes about the place with a sense of urgency and a hunger she hasn’t felt in centuries. She retrieves a prized metal box from its hiding place, clicking her tongue in irritation at the three sets of bindings - one red, one black, one white - and seeks out her siblings. She finds them slumped together on a fetid sofa in what could be assumed to be the sitting room.

“A star has fallen!” she almost weeps with happiness. “One of us must seek it out.”

Her siblings rouse then, slowly. Her brother is dark and frail, and every bit of exposed skin puts his bones on display. He smiles the sharp smile of a predator, his mouth already watering. Their sibling is pale and weak, every movement disturbing the thick layers of dust that have accumulated on their hair and clothes, and when they speak the air becomes more putrid.

“A star? It has been so long,” they sigh.

“So hungry,” their brother echoes.

She shoves the metal box onto their laps and presses their hands to the knots of their respective bindings. A small spark of magic from each of and the bindings undo themselves.

“I will bring it back for us,” she declares as she pulls the box back towards herself.

Her siblings are too tired to fight her for the right, and though relieved she despises them for their weakness; they once fought all out wars to decide petty arguments, but that was so long ago now. She reaches into the box, her fingers tingling as they wrap around a glimmering scrap of the last star they found. She drops it into her mouth and almost faints in sheer ecstasy. As the power courses through her she stumbles drunkenly about the room and until she spies the silhouette of a large gilded mirror. She rips away the cloth that covers it and promptly does the same with her brittle once-red wig and the rags that covered her thin frame. She watches her reflection in awe, never tiring of the transformation, finding it just as magical as it had been the last time over four hundred years before. Her skin becomes radiant and smooth, her hair regrows cascading down past her shoulders like rivers of blood, her body fills out and she feels strong again for the first time in an age.

She runs – _runs!_ – to their shared bedroom and digs out her favourite outfit and armour, preserved with care at the bottom of a solid oak chest. She dresses with haste but savours the feel of the blood-tanned leather on her skin, the weight of the armour, the familiarity of the sword at her hip. Her siblings have found the energy to leave the sitting room and are waiting for her by the front door. Their eyes rove over her restored form with unabashed hunger and envy, and it’s almost as heady as the star’s light coursing through her veins.

“The star lies 1000 miles to the north,” her brother tells her, handing her a leather pouch of runes stones carved from the bones of his first kill. “You must make haste for others seek it out.”

“Bring it back so we may all be young again, sister,” their sibling begs her, handing over a blade of darkest obsidian.

She takes their gifts reverently and secures them to her person. “I will find the star and cut out its heart,” she swears. “And when we are all of us restored to our full power the world will know fear once more.”

When we return to the other side of the wall, where magic and murder are not so commonplace, we will find Ezra Fells rather impulsively packing for a journey that will surely be more perilous than taking a carriage to Ipswich, or even all the way to London. Both of which he’s done precisely once.

He was second guessing himself for the hundredth time in less than an hour when there was a sharp rapping at his front door. As he went to answer it he tried not to think about how it may not be _his_ front door for much longer.

“Anathema, my dear. What are you doing here so late?” he asked of his one and only friend, ushering her inside.

Anathema Device was considered something of an outcast herself and would tell anyone who asked (not that they dared) that she was a witch. She lived on the outskirts of town in a small cottage that had been in her family for generations and her oddness was tolerated by the townsfolk more so than Ezra’s for this very fact: there had always been a witch in Jasmine Cottage. It was downright traditional, and as long as Anathema kept curing their ailments without gossiping about them to their neighbours, and brewing her grandmother’s particularly potent spiced cider at Christmas, the townsfolk let her be.

“It’s Agnes,” Anathema groused, as though that explained anything. The woman had been dead and buried fifteen years now. “She left me something in her will with strict instructions on when to deliver it to you.”

“That time is now, I take it?”

“Right…” Anathema paused until the grandfather clock in the sitting room struck 10. “Now.”

She pulled a small parcel wrapped in waxed paper from her pocket and passed it over to Ezra. He took it gingerly wondering what on earth could be so important that Agnes would put such a plan in place. She had always claimed to have been able to see the future and doled out predictions to any who would listen. Ezra had been respectful of her claims, even helping her get a book of her prophecies published, but had never truly believed her because for all the years Ezra had known her she had never once offered him advice on his own future. At least not until this night.

At Anathema’s urging he took a seat and began to unwrap the small parcel only to find a smaller parcel inside of it with letter in between the layers.

“It’s from Agnes,” Ezra remarked before reading her missive aloud.

_Dear Mr Fell,_

_I must get right to the pointe, for time is of the essensse: it was I who first found thee as a babe, crying in the night by the broken section of the Wall. I Saw thou were in need and sought thee out. I Saw who would love thou best in this smallminded village and left thee on the doorstep of the church for deare Reverend Andrews to find._

_In the basket with thee was the enclosed parcel. I Saw that thou would be in need of it this night after thou talk with that bunch-backed toad, Tyeler, and Anathema and I have kept it safe for thee alle these yeares._

_And though I’m sure thou would rather I just tell thee what to do to keep thy home, truste me when I tell thee that it will alle work out in the end, and that halfe the joye is in the journey. Now, be a dear and put on the kettle before thou opens the next parcel. Thou won’t get to drink it but the routine should steady thy nerves._

_Sincerelee,_

_Agnes Nutter, Witch._

_P.S. You tell R P Tielerr from me that if he keeps harassing thou or that poor Young boy his precious apple trees will never fruit again! Theyr going to be struck downe with a fungus come Spring regardless, but it would be a great lark if he thought I was haunting him from beyond the grave._

“What did you talk to Tyler about?” Anathema asked after allowing Ezra a moment to digest the truths Agnes had laid out in her letter.

“Hmm?”

“R.P. Tyler. Agnes said you talked to him.”

“Oh, yes. He increased my rent – almost doubled it, in point of fact. I had been trying to reason with him, or perhaps strike a deal that would allow me to purchase my home from him.”

“Let me guess: he wasn’t interested.”

“No, he seems quite eager to see me destitute,” Ezra lamented. “But while we were talking we saw a shooting star land beyond the wall and he said that the only way he was going to sell to me was if I could bring him that star.”

“What rot,” Anathema spat. “Ezra, please don’t tell me you’re even entertaining such nonsense; he wasn’t being sincere.”

“Of that I had no doubt,” Ezra huffed. “But surely some man of science somewhere would have interest in a rock fallen from the heavens? I could sell it, and if I can’t buy my childhood home from Tyler perhaps I could buy another. Somewhere as far away as London, or even Paris. Some place where no one whispers about what I am.”

“What you are,” Anathema recited patiently, “is my friend. And I want to see you happy, I do, but not by putting your life at risk. No one travels beyond the wall outside Market Day. Not even Agnes.” She waited another moment for her words to sink in before gently prodding him. “Do you want me to stay, for when you open that one?”

Ezra broke himself out of his muddled thoughts to offer her a small smile. “I think I’d like a moment to myself, dear.”

“Of course. But I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with a warm loaf of bread to break our fast, and we can talk about that,” she said, gesturing at the unopened parcel. “And find you somewhere else to live that isn’t under R. P. Tyler’s thumb,” she added as though he didn’t play landlord to half the village.

Alone in his home-for-the-moment, Ezra read Agnes’ letter once more for good measure before following her instructions and putting on the kettle.

A few minutes later, with warm but still trembling hands, he unwrapped the second parcel. Inside was a solitary white candle peppered with gold flecks and another letter. From the moment his eyes caught the first sentence they began to tear up…

_My dearest brother,_

_Leaving you here is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and though you and mother may never forgive me for my actions, please believe me when I say it is for the best. It is not safe for you here. Every day our siblings jealously of your light and the attention mother gives you grows. They will do anything to gain her favour, even eliminate the competition, and I cannot hope to both protect myself and be there to stop every attempt made on your own cherished life._

_I realise this cannot be easy to read but it is my greatest wish that my decision has allowed you to live a life free of pain and fear and the greed that has poisoned our siblings souls. I hope you have found a home and a family who loves you like you deserve, but selfishly it is my deepest wish that we may meet again once you are a man capable of defending yourself. To that end I have enclosed a gift._

_The fastest way to travel is by candlelight. To use it, think of me and only me._

_All my love,_

_Raphael_

It took Ezra several moments to get past the realisation that he had a brother, and a mother, and an unknown number of fratricidal siblings, to acknowledge the gift mentioned. The candle must be magical in origin, he reasoned, and thus it would make sense to wait for Anathema’s return to study it further… but if it meant finding a way to return to his brother’s side – _his brother!_ \- who was no doubt beyond the wall that she would still be hesitant to let him take such a risk. He fidgeted with the candle while his tea grew cold, all the while turning words like “brother” and “mother” and “home” over in his mind.

How does it work, he wondered. _The fastest way to travel is by candlelight,_ his brother’s letter had said, so Ezra had to assume that one had to light it, thus creating candle light, and… just think of his desired destination. Simple enough really, he mused, gathering up his half-packed leather satchel (a gift from the late vicar), adding some rations (half a block of cheese, the last of his bread, a few apples, and a canteen of water) just in case, and seeking out a match before he realised what he was doing.

He should probably leave a note for Anathema for she was sure to be cross with him in the morning when she found him gone. But perhaps, if the magic candle worked as he imagined it would, she need never know. Perhaps the candle would take him straight to his brother and perhaps there was enough magic within it to allow a return trip?

“Perhaps, perhaps…” Ezra muttered anxiously. He quickly found a pencil and wrote “Anathema – Back soon – Regards, Ezra” in his patently elegant script on the brown paper wrapping, then pulled the long strap of his satchel over his head, fussing with it until he was comfortable. With a deep breath he lit the match and took up the candle in his other hand. He counted to three and with a trembling hand brought the flame to the wick.

“Home,” he implored the universe.

A roar like a wildest thunderstorm assaulted his ears as the world rushed by in a dizzying blur and just when Ezra thought he might be sick it all stopped rather suddenly and Ezra found himself tumbling to the ground atop of some poor bystander.

“Oh! Oh, Raphael!” Ezra exclaimed, jumping to his shaky feet and reaching out to the man he assumed must be his brother. “I'm so... I'm so sorry. Are you all right?”

“No, I'm not! And I'm not bloody Raphael, so get off me!” hissed the body on the ground.

“You're... You're not my brother?”

“Do I Iook Iike I'm your brother?”

Ezra properly took stock of the man he had crashed into. He was tall and lean and wore strange robes of midnight. He was fair of face, his naturally sharp features were verging on knifelike in his irrigation, with long red hair that seemed to shine without a light source, like each strand possessed within itself a flickering flame, and his eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow that burned with the ruthlessness of a midsummer sun. Ezra with his stocky frame, mousy, untidy hair, and too snug second-hand suit could not imagine a man more his opposite.

“No. Sorry. I was mistaken.” Ezra glanced nervously around the strange clearing he found himself in and seeing no one else, let alone a possible long lost brother around, turned his attentions back to the man who had still not made an attempt to get up off the ground. “Well, are you all right? Do you want some help?”

“You can help by Ieaving me alone!” the man snapped, slapping away Ezra’s outstretched hands.

“Very well then,” Ezra bristled, leaving the strange man to his misery to focus on his own problems. "Light the candle and think of me,” he muttered staring down at the candle still in his hands that was now half its original length. “I was. I was thinking of Raphael... But then the star just popped into…” Ezra spun in a circle, his eyes growing wide with the realisation that he was not in a man-made clearing but an impact site. He turned back to the strange man. “Oh, excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you again. This may seem strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?”

“You're funny,” the man huffed, though his glare said Ezra was anything but.

“No, really, we're in a crater,” Ezra pressed on. “This must be where it fell.”

“Yeah, this is where it fell. Or if you want to be really specific,” the man drawled, jabbing a finger towards the night sky. “Up there is where this weird bloody necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the heavens when it was minding its own business. And over there is where it Ianded,” he said, pointing towards the deepest part of the impact site. “And right here,” he growled, pointing to the ground on which he sat. “This is where it got hit by a magical flying moron!”

Ezra faltered as his brain was forced to make several adjustments rather quickly about its understanding of the universe.

“You're the star! You're the star? Really?” Ezra babbled, the colour draining from his face as this new reality came crashing down around him.

The star was human, or at least human shaped, and he could not sell off said star to secure his childhood home (though he was not naïve enough to think there weren’t men who would desire to buy such a creature).

The candle had not taken him to his brother, though he had initially wished it. Perhaps stray thoughts of the star had derailed the candles route, or perhaps his brother was no longer living and it was not possible for the candle to take Ezra to his side. What proof did he have either way?

And the candle only had one journey left in it – how best to use it? Should he return to Tadfield and his uncertain future, or try to go to his brother again, which was filled nothing but uncertainties, or did Ezra do what the voice in his head that sounded a great deal like the vicar said and offer the candle to the star so he could return to his home in the sky?

Ezra patted his coat pockets in an increasingly erratic pattern before sinking to the ground opposite the star. In the end it wouldn’t really matter which he chose because he had forgotten to pack a second bloody match to light the damn thing with.

“Oh, fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> The idea popped into my head while scrolling through Ao3 and seeing the tag "angels used to be stars".
> 
> No idea how to cram both stories together from here. I only know that they would end up on a sky pirate ship at some point where Shadwell is technically the captain but the ship is definitely run by his first mate, Madame Tracey. Madame Tracey gives Aziraphale his makeover (per the movie) while Crowley raids her closet.
> 
> And to not mess with Crowley's name / make it more "starry" let's say he was part of the constellation Corvus.
> 
> Fic also available on tumblr: https://freudensteins-monster.tumblr.com/post/189589266376/his-hearts-desire-the-beginnings-of-a-good
> 
> Also posted on tumblr:


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